David Brin - Infinity's Shore

Ewasx, the Jophur, vented gurgling sounds, along with snatches of Galactic Two.

“Outrageous … treacherous … unexpected … unforeseen!”

Tremors shook its composite body, quivering from the peak down to its basal segment. Most of the elderly, waxy toroids were familiar to Lark. Once, they composed a friend, a sage, wise and good. But a newcomer had taken over — a glistening young collar, black and featureless, without appendages or sensory organs.

Both Ling and Rann cried out. But when Lark turned around, the holoscene was all white — a blank slate.

“The corvette,” Ling explained, her voice awed. “It’s been destroyed!”

A shrill sigh escaped the Jophur. The tremors turned into convulsions.

Ewasx is having some kind of fit, Lark thought. Should I attack now? Strike the master ring with all my might?

Ling was babbling excitedly about “the other rockets—” But Lark had decided, striding toward the shuddering Jophur. His sole weapons were his hands, but so what?

Lester, you pulled off a fantastic wolfling trick. Asx would have been proud of you.

Just as old Asx would have wanted me to do this.

He brought back a fist, aimed at the shivering master ring.

Someone seized his arm, holding it back in a fierce grip. Lark swiveled, cocking his other fist at Rann. But the bull-headed Danik only shook his head.

“What will it prove? You’d just make them angry, native boy. We remain trapped here, at their mercy.”

“Get out of my way,” Lark growled. “I’m gonna free my traeki friend.”

“Your friend is long gone. If you kill a master ring, the whole stack dissolves! I know this, young savage. I’ve put it in practice.”

Lark was angry enough to turn his attack on the burly Danik. Sensing it, Rann released Lark and stepped back, raising both hands in a combatant’s stance.

Yeah, Lark thought, dropping to a crouch. You’re a star-god soldier. But maybe a savage knows some tricks you don’t.

“Stop it, you two!” Ling shouted. “We’ve got to get ready—”

She cut off as a chain of low vibrations throbbed the metal floor — mighty forces at work, growling elsewhere in the vast ship.

“Defensive cannon,” Rann identified the din. “But what could they be firing—?”

“The rockets!” Ling replied. “I told you, they’re coming this way!”

Realization dawned on Rann, that sooners might actually threaten a starship. He cursed, diving for a corner of the cell.

Lark allowed Ling to lead him as the battleship shivered, its weapons firing frantically. A mutter of distant detonations crept closer as they held each other. The moment had a heady vividness, a hormonal rush, mixing the pleasure of Ling’s touch with sharp awareness of onrushing death.

Yet Lark found himself hoping, praying, that the next few moments would end his life.

Come on. You can do it, Lester. Finish the job!

The fragment of the Egg lay against his chest, where its last outburst had left seething weals. He clutched the stone amulet with his free hand, expecting throbbing heat. Instead, Lark felt an icy cold. A brittleness that breath would shatter.

WE’RE ALL FEELING rather down right now. Suessi called from the second dross pile where his work crew just had an accident. They were trying to clear the area around an old Buyur ore-hauler when a subsea quake hit. The surrounding heap of junk ships shifted and an ancient hulk came rolling down on a couple of workers — Satima and Sup-peh. Neither of them had time to do more than stare at the onrushing wall before it crushed them.

So we keep getting winnowed down where it hurts most. Our best colleagues — the skilled and dedicated — inevitably pay the price.

Then there’s Peepoe, everyone’s delight. A terrible loss, kidnapped by Zhaki and his pal. If only I could get my hands on that pair!

I had to lie to poor Kaa, though. We cannot spare time to go hunting across the ocean for Peepoe.

That doesn’t mean she’ll be abandoned. Friends will win her freedom, someday. This I vow.

But our pilot won’t be one of them.

Alas, I fear Kaa will never see her again.

MAKANEE finished her autopsies of Kunn and Jass. The prisoners apparently took poison rather than answer our questions. Tsh’t blames herself for not searching the Danik agent more carefully, but who would have figured Kunn would be so worried about our amateur grilling?

And did he really have to take the hapless native boy with him? Rety’s cousin could hardly know secrets worth dying for.

Rety herself can shed no light on the matter. Without anyone to interrogate, she volunteered to help Suessi, who can certainly use a hand. Makanee recommends work as good therapy for the poor kid, who had to see those gruesome bodies firsthand.

I wonder. What secret was Kunn trying to protect? Normally, I’d drop everything to puzzle it out. But too much is going on as we prepare to make our move.

Anyway, from the Jophur prisoners we know the Rothen ship is irrelevant. We have more immediate concerns.

THE Library cube reports no progress on that symbol — the one with nine spirals and eight ovals. The unit is now sifting its older files, a job that gets harder the further back it goes.

In compensation, the cube has flooded me with records of other recent “sooner outbreaks”—secret colonies established on fallow worlds.

It turns out that most are quickly discovered by guardian patrols of the Institute of Migration. Jijo is a special case, with limited access and the nearby shrouding of Izmunuti. Also, this time an entire galaxy was declared fallow, making inspection a monumental task.

I wondered — why set aside a whole galaxy, when the basic unit of ecological recovery is a planet, or at most a solar system?

The cube explained that much larger areas of space are usually quarantined, all at once. Oxygen-breathing civilization evacuates an entire sector or spiral arm, ceding it to the parallel culture of hydrogen breathers — those mysterious creatures sometimes generically called Zang. This helps keep both societies separated in physical space, reducing the chance of friction.

It also helps the quarantine. The Zang are unpredictable, and often ignore minor incursions, but they can be fierce if large numbers of oxy-sapients appear where they don’t belong.

We detected what must have been Zang ships, before diving past Izmunuti. I guess they took us for a “minor incursion,” since they left us alone.

The wholesale trading of sectors and zones makes more sense now. Still, I pressed the Library cube.

Has an entire galaxy ever been declared off-limits before?

The answer surprised me.

Not for a very long time … at least one hundred and fifty million years.

Now, where have I heard that number before?

WE’RE told there are eight orders of sapience and quasisapience. Oxy-life is the most vigorous and blatant — or as Tom put it, “strutting around, acting like we own the place.” In fact, though, I was surprised to learn that hydrogen breathers far outnumber oxygen breathers. But Zang and their relatives spend most of their time down in the turbid layers of Jovian-type worlds.

Some say this is because they fear contact with oxy-types.

Others say they could crush us anytime, but have never gotten around to it. Perhaps they will, sometime in the next billion years.

The other orders are Machine, Memetic, Quantum, Hypothetical, Retired, and Transcendent.

Why am I pondering this now?

Well, our plans are in motion, and soon Streaker will be, too. It’s likely that in a few days we’ll be dead, or else taken captive. With luck, we may buy something worthwhile with our lives. But our chances of actually getting away seem vanishingly small.